Don't Panic
by WilliamSherlockScottHolmes
Summary: Was deleted and revised. Set during the end of The Blind Baker. Sherlock is having trouble breathing and is on the verge of a panic attack, which isn't helping his situation. Reviews are loved.
1. Chapter 1

After a long two and a half days, it's only right that both Sherlock and John are exhausted. Upon entering the flat they went their bedrooms and fell asleep. Neither of them currently caring about the crates of books. Those could be taken care of at a more decent hour.

* * *

By noon the next day, the crates of books were gone, but their mess remained. Both friends had each taken a window and started scraping off the yellow spray paint.

While taking a break to let his arms rest, Sherlock rubbed his still sore neck. John had insisted on taking a look at it when they woke up five hours ago, but Sherlock pushed him away saying that it was nothing.

"Why don't you let me take a look at your neck," John insisted as he stopped scrubbing his window and look at Sherlock.

"I'm fine," Sherlock stated. "It's just some mild bruising. Nothing life threatening."

"Maybe not at the moment, but it might be later on," John explained. "So let me know right away if it worsens."

"I will," Sherlock said.

* * *

As night fell the windows were free from the spray paint, but still somewhat dirty.

While drinking his tea and flipping through a book written in Latin, Sherlock found it hard to swallow, but ignored the fact. He found it boring and useless. He just continued to drink the tea and read his book.

* * *

While playing the violin at an ungodly hour of the night, Sherlock noticed a change in his breathing pattern. As per usual he elected to ignore the fact since it was not significant at the moment.

A few moments later, Sherlock dropped his violin and bow when he found it hard to breath. He put his hands to his throat and felt it swelling shut.

In a panic, he made his way to John's bedroom.

Upon reaching the room he burst in and woke the man. As soon as John sat up and looked at his flatmate he realized the situation.

John went into action, letting his medical training take over.

He stood and walked the one step it took to reach Sherlock. He took hold of Sherlock's arms, sat him on the bed and had him sit up straight against the headboard.

The army doctor look at Sherlock's throat and noticed that his throat was swelling shut and two times faster than it should have been after an untreated strangulation.

"Sherlock, you should have gotten checked out by the paramedics," John said as he grabbed for his mobile and dialed 999.

When he was done giving the operator the information they needed he hung up and grabbed his medical bag from the closet.

He took out his stethoscope. As he put the buds in his ears, he watched as Sherlock's panic began to rise.

"Sherlock you need to remain as calm as possible. If you have a panic attack, you could die," John explained as calmly as he could, but knew he wasn't being very reassuring.

Noticeably, Sherlock calmed down a little, but the terror of not being able to breath was still evident.

John checked the other man's heart and lungs. It took only a couple of seconds to confirm that the detective was tachycardic.

The doctor placed the stethoscope around his neck and took hold of Sherlock's wrist to take a pulse. It was weak and thready.

He looked at Sherlock, with worried eyes. Sherlock clearly took this as a bad sign and began to let the panic rise up again.

"Please stay calm. Help is on the way," John said, when he noticed his friend once again on the verge of a panic attack. "If you have a panic attack, your body will shut down, because you can't breath properly."

Sherlock didn't find those words very comforting. The thought of his body shutting down, scared him even more.

"Think of things that calm you down," John suggested.

Thinking was a good idea. Sherlock thought of puzzle he had thought of several times in the past weeks, but never could solve. The puzzle of who Moriarty was.

The more he thought of the puzzle the more calm he became, but the terror was still there. The fact that he couldn't breath was still there.

The sound of approaching sirens filled the air. Help would be here in a matter of a couple of minutes

* * *

John sat by Sherlock's hospital bed, pondering why the swelling had happened so fast. He hadn't had time to think about it while he was helping Sherlock, nor had the thought crossed his mind while he spent three hours in the waiting room. He also didn't bother to think about it when Mycroft showed up, making sure his younger brother got the best care possible, and asking him what happened.

But now that the excitement had gone down some, John went over every memory from the case. After awhile his thoughts drifted from the case over what was currently happening.

He looked over at Sherlock. The man had been put on a ventilator, to help him breathe. He was also being heavily sedated and was going to remain that way over the length of days to come, while the swelling went down and until he could breath on his own.

The IV placed in the crook of his right arm was feeding him antibiotics, painkillers, and a heavy-duty sedative.

John soon found himself falling asleep in the chair and allowed the sleep to claim him.


	2. Chapter 2

Soo Lin's' flat! John realized when he woke up to the sound of rain hitting the hospital room window.

Sherlock had come out of that flat all croaky and slightly gasping. John had originally thought that he was coming down with something. That was never the case, apparently.

John stood from his chair and walked over to the window and watched as the rain fell on London.

* * *

As the days passed, John stayed by Sherlock's side. Throughout each day, Mrs. Hudson and Molly would stop by for about an hour each. Every couple of days, Mycroft would stop by between meetings to make sure that his brother was still in good hands and not in the hands of an idiot. Even Lestrade stopped by, but only once, but it was take a photo. Something was clearly wrong with that man.

The swelling had gone significantly, but Sherlock remained on the ventilator, since he was still unable to breathe on his own. Sherlock's doctor figured that in a few more days, he'd be able to breathe on his own.

Even though Sherlock had been hooked up to the machine helping him breath for over a week, John still found to hard to look at the genius like that. It was hard to look at how vulnerable Sherlock looked. He looked helpless, which was what he was. He wasn't supposed to be helpless though. He was supposed to be the great Sherlock Holmes, who could walk away unscathed from every battle.

* * *

As the world's only consulting detective's doctor predicted, a few days later, Sherlock was off the ventilator and breathing somewhat own his own. The tubing that been placed down Sherlock's throat had been removed and replaced with a nasal cannula.

Now all that had to be done was to wait for the sedatives to wear off and Sherlock to wake up.

* * *

John stood by the window watching as night fell across London. It was raining again. The same as it had the in the afternoon of the first day here, two weeks ago.

He wanted to think of it as a good omen, but nothing ever good came of rain. Well almost nothing. If Sherlock had anything to say about it, he'd make a list of pros and cons and put it on his website.

It had been several hours since Sherlock had been taken off the ventilator and he still hadn't woken up. Either that or he was just pretending to be asleep, because he didn't want to be bothered.

The latter of the thought seemed unlikely, but it wasn't impossible.

As John pondered the thought, he heard a groan come from Sherlock's bed.

The army doctor was by Sherlock's side in two steps.

"John?" Sherlock rasped, clearly confused by the sound of his own voice and where he was.

John picked up the pitcher of water that had been on the table by Sherlock's hospital bed and poured some of the water in plastic cup.

"Here, drink this," John said as he handed Sherlock the cup.

Sherlock greedily drank the water. When he finished he handed the cup back to John. "What happened?"

John sat down in the chair and relayed everything that happened over the past two weeks as quickly as he could, knowing Sherlock wouldn't stay awake for much longer.

When John finished, Sherlock looked at him in an understanding way. "How much longer am I going to have be here?"

"A few more days at the most," John replied.

Seeming content with the answer, Sherlock just closed his eyes and fell into a more natural sleep.

* * *

After spending five more days and nights in the hospital, Sherlock had been released, provided that he took it easy for the next week. So that meant now running around London chasing criminals.

As soon as Sherlock was back at 221B, he plopped himself down on the sofa with John's laptop and began checking his emails.

"Maybe one day you could just use your own laptop," John stated.

"Mine is in my room and your's was closer," Sherlock replied. "Besides aren't I supposed to be taking things easy?"

John chuckled. Sherlock was most definitely going to milk his still healing neck for all it was worth.

"Fine use my laptop, just don't accept any of those cases," John said.

"I won't," Sherlock promised, flashing John a sly smile.


End file.
